2ND READ-THROUGH: I enjoyed this immensely, probably even more than the first time I read it (probably back in 2002). It’s a little more plot-driven than most of Vonnegut’s works, but it still explores the same basic concepts you’ll find in most of his oeuvre - in fact - diving deeper and more direct into one concept in particular that doesn’t *quite* find its way all of his novels: love. Specifically, familial love, and the meaning and purpose of family. Utilizing copious dystopian imagery and weaving chaotically (but still coherently) between two narratives, there is not a dull moment in this book, even if most of it boils down to a mediation of human connection. This might be one of my favorite Vonnegut books now.

EDIT: 3RD READ-THROUGH: This actually feels like it might be the most scattershot of Vonnegut's novels, the satire is non-stop and targeted at nearly every institution. Nothing is ever eviscerated, but also, nothing is spared. I also think this secretly might be his bleakest novel. The thing that struck me reading this today, in the year 2025, how further we have slipped into tribalism, especially in American politics. I think what Vonnegut was trying to say was that this kind of tribalistic mindset is a part of human nature, so our main character, among other things, tries to harness this in a positive way, by reinventing the family unit as extended bands of people, a sort of self-sustaining unit. Of course, when the first hardship comes along --in this case, the breakdown of gravity (lol) and dual pandemics-- people are gonna people, and society immediately collapses back into warring feudal factions. It seems to me like he is saying this is how it is, how it always has been, and we are pretty much a doomed species (in this life, and in the Turkey Farm of the afterlife) from the get-go. This is just scratching the surface of what is going on in this book, but those were the thoughts that jumped out to me this go-around.

Dr. Wilbur Daffodil-11 Swain, a grotesque scion of wealth, shares a bizarre bond with his twin, Eliza. Labeled "monsters," they defy expectations, finding brilliance in their abnormal minds. Ripped apart, Wilbur ascends to the presidency while Eliza is cast aside. This stark contrast mirrors Vonnegut's own alienation, a product of both economic rootlessness and familial loss. The novel is a twisted funhouse mirror reflecting America's fractured psyche.

Vonnegut's prose is a wild carnival ride, juggling absurdity with a biting critique of society. He crafts a world where logic is a loose cannon and laughter is a weapon against despair. The novel is a chaotic masterpiece, a defiant middle finger to conventional storytelling.

Beneath the clownish exterior lies a poignant exploration of belonging. Wilbur's presidency, a grotesque farce, exposes the emptiness of power. Through slapstick and satire, Vonnegut yearns for a grounded humanity in a world adrift. This is a book for those who relish the absurd, who find solace in the darkly comic, and who crave narratives that shake the foundations of the ordinary.

Hi ho!

Slapstick, or Lonesome No More, is a self indulgent book by Kurt Vonnegut in his later years. He writes the book as if he's speaking to you, as a friend, in conversation. This style is great for the many Vonnegut fans, it conveys immediacy, friendliness and humour. For people who aren't fans of Vonneguts I wonder what they would make of his addressing his readers so intimately. He drops many of the contraints and conventions in story telling, but picks up other ways to carry the story. If aspiring authors want to adopt this style, it must be incredibly difficult to master. The story flows along, the writing is never clunky or hard to understand. You know Kurt Vonnegut has the events well in hand, and isn't just making it up as he goes along. But the structure is casual, conversational, like a fireside story telling.
The main element for me in Kurt Vonneguts writing is his humanity. He is world weary but able to laugh at the weird way humans treat each other. Humour and pathos and warmth.

As I was listening to Slapstick while (very occasionally) driving around town, it slowly dawned on me that I may have already read this book during my teenage years as one off of the very scarcely filled shelf of my small-town library’s “SF/F” shelf. I also had a vague recollection that I wasn’t very happy with the book, seeing as it turned the whole whiz-bang of Heinleinian SF on its head, making a mockery of things I held close to my heart back then. Well, now I am several decades older, and this book hits hard right in the soft bits. I can’t not recommend him to anyone, but unless we are dealing with very special examples of the species, Vonnegut is surely wasted on the young.

Este libro va de... no lo sé. El autor lo define como su obra más autobiográfica, algo extraño pues la historia va de plagas, guerras, colonización de Marte, gente China en miniatura que controla el orden del universo y más cosas similares.
No es difícil notar algunos datos autobiográficos, como la relación con su hermana, siendo esta, diría yo, la razón de ser del libro y la mejor parte de la historia (todo lo que transcurre en la mansión tiene aire de cuento, resultando muy agradable); pero de ahí en adelante (desde que el protagonista se convierte en presidente) las cosas son tan absurdas que se pierde el hilo de lo que se debe tomar como autobiográfico y lo que no. El libro al final es simplemente un juego que realiza el autor con sus recuerdos. Nada tiene sentido y no necesita tenerlo, pero no termina de ser entrañable.
La novela está muy bien hasta la mitad, de ahí en adelante tantas cosas absurdas empiezan a cansar y pierden la gracia, y en las páginas finales ya ni te importa (al menos así me sucedió a mí).
Es entretenido hasta cierta parte, pero no lo recomiendo a menos que les interese mucho Vonnegut. No he leído otro libro del autor, es mi primer acercamiento, así que no puedo dar una opinión general, pero me atrevería a decir que este no es el mejor libro para empezar con él, pues si no me interesaran otros ejemplares de su obra (como Matadero Cinco o Cronomoto) no le daría otra oportunidad.
Espero que en próximas lecturas me sorprenda, pues aquí vi potencial escondido.

4,5/5*.
Αστείο, σαρκαστικό, γλυκόπικρο, φανταστικό. Αυτά :-)

This is my sixth Vonnegut book. I read Slaughterhouse-5 first, then Breakfast of Champions, then Cat's Cradle, then God Bless You, Mr Rosewater and now this. I didn't intend to read this one next, I just happened to find it in a charity shop for £1.49 so I bought it and read it. It's not a Vonnegut book I've heard much about. I actually wanted to read Sirens of a Titan next, or Mother Night. (Here I would say Hi Ho because that's what's said frequently in this novel, like 'so it goes' in Slaughterhouse. I'm not going to say it though because everyone on Goodreads seems to have done it in their reviews so that would be unoriginal and uncool.)
Hi ho.

What I have seen from this novel is disappointment from its readers. Too jumbled, possibly. Or just not quite as good as his others. There are a number of 3 star and 4 star reviews. As you've spotted, probably, mine is neither a 3 star or a 4 star review. Or a 2 star, or a 1 star. That leaves one number left. 5 star. You get it.

This novel, for me, goes quite deep. Of course, it's bonkers. In fact, I think it's the maddest Vonnegut novel I've read so far. I mean, honestly. When the gravity is light all men get boners? When the brother and sister put their heads together they are geniuses? The Chinese have shrunken themselves to microscopic size? Our narrator is the President of America? There's been a terrible disease called 'The Green Death'? I could go on. It's madness. However there's a rather dense, but short, prologue written by Vonnegut himself. He's discussing the death of his uncle and his sister and saying how Slapstick is autobiographical. Of course, loosely. But the narrator is him, maybe? And the sister is his sister? I don't know. Vonnegut says too, in response to his brother asking how his work is going, that he is 'sick of it, but that I had always been sick of it.' He then quotes Renata Adler: 'A writer was a person who hated writing.' Then he says he once complained to his agent about his 'disagreeable profession' who responded in writing with - 'Dear Kurt - I never knew a blacksmith who was in love with his anvil.'

I think my love for Vonnegut comes from the madness, but also the pain. Somehow he writes things so funny and simply but they hurt so much sometimes. Slapstick, as I've said, is the maddest, and possibly the funniest, and that makes it hurt a lot. In all his books, Vonnegut has these lines that come off the page like a cry for help, or a confession. I can't write forever so some quotes may lack context but that just means you have to go read the book, okay?

Quotes like this break my heart, somewhat. 'one of the most attractive features of Eliza's and my invention, I think: Children had so many homes and parents to choose from.'

Vonnegut's father committed suicide.

Another: 'He wasn't going to be allowed to run away from caring for all those babies.'
Or, on saying 'I love you' to someone: 'I don't like it...It's as though you were a gun at my head,' he said. 'It's just a way of getting somebody to say something they probably don't mean. What else can I say, or anybody say, but, 'I love you, too.''

And with sadness, there's madness. And with the both of them, classic Vonnegut cynicism and genius.

'Fascists are inferior people who believe it when somebody tells them they are superior,' she said.
'Now, now-' I said.
'Then they want everybody else to die,' she said.

He mentions Dresden, just once, or twice in the same context. A candlestick from Dresden. Because where else? He mentions suicide. He mentions the atomic bomb.

Two things left to say.

One: the 'other' title to the book and strap-line of our President narrator: LONESOME NO MORE.

Finally, something said multiple times in the book. Possibly the greatest insult ever. It will also mark the end of my review, so goodbye from me. Before I go, the number of o's is the exact quote. I counted and triple checked. You're welcome. Anyway, and goodbye from Vonnegut:

'Why don't you take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut? Why don't you take a flying fuck at the moooooooooooon?'

And with that, I learned once again that I was an asshole. I read 'Cat's Cradle' when I was in high school and taking a lot of ecstasy, so I hated everything except the Chemical Brothers. Since I hated Cat's Cradle then, I've assumed that I didn't like Mr Vonnegut for the last, what, dozen years? I only picked this one up 'cause I never see old editions of it and Josh said it's his favorite.

That all sucks. I mean, I don't think he's perfect- I'd remembered his kind of smug, eccentric uncle persona being at the fore kind of like Tom Robbins tends to do. (Which, by the way, is a big part of why I find Tom Robbins so unreadable- I get it, you're smart, you're charming, you're just like every other straight boy who thinks he's hot shit. Next.) But it wasn't so out front! In fact, this was just a bizarre story about genius twins that Aimee Bender would've told differently, but which she could have told.

I also feel like- I don't want to give away anything, but there are some bizarre structural things that happen. Mostly it's nice. Sometimes the way he'll gloss over a few decades is jarring for me. The bit where the main story ends and the postscript starts is such a funny, fuck-you plot decision. Love it.

So... yeah. So now I'm gonna read more of this guy. Kerry, you were right about this guy the whole time.

I never put Kurt Vonnegut on my list of favorite authors… and shame on me for that as I’ve at the very least liked everything I’ve read by the man. One of the things I always love about his work is that he was quite possibly the most hopeful cynic in existence. Pessimism is borderline overwhelming in his work, but it always seemed like deep down he still liked people and hoped we would do better, even while being positive that we were doomed by our own failures.

Well, not so here. This book is Slapstick, and like the slapstick comedies of old, there is only failure here. Some people may be good, and some may improve along the way, but there is no hope here. This is easily the bleakest novel I’ve read by Vonnegut and that’s saying something considering he literally ended the world in one of his novels.

The plot follows Dr Wilbur Daffodil-II Swain, current (and last) president of the United States of America, King of Manhattan and owner of 1,000+ candlesticks, as he documents his life story and how the world declined. It’s a tale of genius twins, mad schemes, name changes, orgies, revenge, drugs, dystopia and utopia. It’s a tale where everything can go right, even while everything goes to hell. It’s about life, the afterlife and about how to cope with both. It doesn’t make any sense in description, and yet it makes perfect sense while reading.

In other words, it’s a slapstick comedy in literary form. The bleakest slapstick you will ever read, and while it does have Vonnegut’s touches of humanity, this is very clearly a novel where he’s working out his own demons. What was he working out? I feel I can’t explain it, but he will. Literally he opens the book telling you why he wrote it… and it all makes sense, and makes it even more depressing.

This one is unfocused and all over the place (even by Vonnegut standards) and overall it feels like a bit of a mess. It is easily my least favorite of his novels, yet I’m still giving a solid 3 stars. Even at his worst, Vonnegut is able to speak to me in a way that few authors… hell, few humans in general, have ever been able to speak to me.

I’d like to close with just a general note. Vonnegut was not an author to be read for beautiful prose. He liked quick simple sentences, that said only as much as they needed to. Despite that, here he finds a moment or two to bring a touch of awe out of that simple prose. “Standing among all those tiny, wavering lights, I felt as though I were God, up to my knees in the Milky Way.”

"I wish that people who are conventionally supposed to love each other would say to each other, when they fight, “Please—a little less love, and a little more common decency." (3)

Vonnegut famously, while self-assessing his work, gave Slapstick a D. Writers are notoriously poor at evaluating their own work, however, and Vonnegut's assessment of Slapstick is no exception. The Prologue is one of his most personal pieces of writing, as is the work itself – revolving, as it does, around the death of Kurt's sister and the close bond they always shared. Sure, the novel is not as well-thought-out as some of his others, but it is funny and sad and clever in good portions – and hey, after all, it is supposed to be Slapstick.

Although not his best work, Slapstick is still pretty good if you are able to enjoy the creative mix of pathos and humor characteristic of Vonnegut's style. As ever, the book is a meditation on the human condition as if seen by Kant's hypothetically impotent, but wholly good, god.

Actual rating: 4.5

*This shall be one of my shortest reviews, because all that needs to be said of this book, can be derived from the next six words*

Absurd
Profound
Endlessly comical
Hi Ho